The True Home
The outside of a home is not what I see,
But the people inside are what bring me glee.
In my home cinnamon I smell,
The taste of my mom’s cooking is something I can tell.
The home is where the heart lies,
Inside it there will be no cries.
This virus has tore us all apart,
But the home has carved us into art.
In the home we live and we learn,
But always return.
Our home is our base,
It’s our favorite place.
Our home will be near,
There is nothing to fear.
The people without a home, it’s sad to see
But this poem will help the sun shine upon thee.